Just Around the Riverbend

Oh sweet lemony sherbet drops. I do apologize for being gone so long. I had....life to take care of. I was right at the end of terms, and I had some finals, and then I had a research paper to turn in AS my final for English. It was just a never ending circle of psycotic madness. Anyway. I would love to hear form you guys. I didn't get too much of a payload worth of reviews for the last chap I gave. I would love a jackpot. Come on now. You know you missed me. Tell me.

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Cole ran towards the target, determination etched on his young face. He knew what he had to do. He had been practicing for weeks. His papa had shown him how to do it. Some of the other kids had shown him how to do it. And now he would do it himself. He would make his papa proud. He would make his ‘raffe proud, too! He slowed down just as he approached his target. Then, he pulled back his foot and kicked with all his might.

The little black and white ball rolled neatly into the small plastic goal.

“Go!” Cole cheered, and he heard his father laugh behind him. He turned to see his papa smiling at him from his perch underneath the tree in the yard.

“Yes indeed, little Beckham, you made a goal. I’m sure the others at the park will be pleased with your progress.” Severus chuckled. It had been a brilliant idea to begin taking Cole to the park. The little one got lots of exercise, and Severus got out of the house. Though the weather was still cool, some of the parents had been pleasantly surprised when a few older siblings had begun an impromptu game of football with their brothers and sisters. Cole had been drawn into the game, and though he’d ended up with a rip in his trousers the first ‘practice,’ he’d quickly fallen in love with the game.

So, Severus had gotten his son a football small enough for his age, and a small, brightly colored plastic goal to practice in. He was sure nothing would come of it later, but in the mean time it was great fun to watch Cole kick the ball around like he was a pro. Also, it may or may not have amused him to watch his son sometimes miss the ball and fall flat on his bottom. It didn’t harm him, so he could laugh. Right?

Cole went to the goal and retrieved his ball, and then took it to the other side of the yard. He proceeded to kick it several times across the cool grass, and finally into the goal again. “Go!” he crowed, and put his hands into the air like he’d seen some of the other children do.

He ran over to his father, his face flushed from the cool weather and from running about. Severus put down the book he had been reading, and opened his arms to his son, who took almost a running start to jump into his father’s embrace.

“We should probably go back inside now, child.” Severus said. “It’s about time for supper.”

“Spetti?” Cole asked, looking up at his father hopefully.

“I feel confident that we can procure some pasta for you.” He said amiably. Cole just continued to look at him with that hopeful expression. “Yes. Spetti.” He said. Cole crowed happily, and planted a sloppy kiss on his father’s cheek.

More of the ‘Spetti’ ended up on Cole’s face and clothes than in his tummy, which was just as well seeing he needed a bath anyway. Severus carried his son up the stairs, with the young boy babbling childish nonsense the entire way. A few real words ended up in his diatribe here and there.

“Baff?” Cole asked as they walked into the bathroom.

“Yes, bath. You have more spaghetti sauce on your face than you do in your belly.” His father commented, and poked his son’s tummy. Cole squirmed and giggled. When his father put him down, he promptly sat on the black bathroom rug and began to tug off his trainers. He giggled when he saw his dirty socks.

“Fiffy!” he cried, showing his father his socks. Severus turned his head slightly as he began to run the bathwater.

“Indeed. You are one filthy little boy.” His father teased. Cole then tugged off his little socks, and stood up. He held his arms over his head and let his father pull off his shirt. Severus plucked a stray spaghetti noodle from Cole’s shoulder and looked at it curiously. “How does that even happen?” he asked. Cole just giggled. Severus banished the noodle with a flick of his wrist, and finished undressing his son. He put the squirming youngster in the bathwater, and was almost immediately rewarded by Cole smacking the water, splashing it up into his father’s face.

“I’ll be taking my bath after you’re in the bed, child. No need to speed up the process.” Severus stated firmly, rubbing the water from his face. After the initial splashing, it didn’t take too much effort to get his son squeaky clean from the top of his coal-black hair, to the bottoms of his feet.

It wasn’t too much later that father and son were snuggled together in Cole’s story-time chair, with Severus holding a book of Potions in front of him.

“And what would happen if Apprentice Andy were to add the Asphodel too quickly?” Severus asked.

“Boom!” Cole squealed, and threw up his hands.

“Correct. But if he adds it at just the right time, it turns into a very interesting shade of purple.” His father spoke soft and slow, the sound of his voice almost like a masculine lullaby to his son. Cole pointed to the page, where the correct depiction of the Potion was.

“Purpa?” he asked. Snape smiled.

“Yes, purple.” He continued reading a little more on the Stomach Soothing Elixir, before the soft, even breaths of his son indicated that the boy was asleep. Severus gently laid his book aside, and shifted his son in his arms so that he could stand and take the lad to his bed. Cole gave a sleepy murmur as his father nestled him among the soft warm blankets, and his arms reached out for something automatically. His father placed ‘raffe in his hands, and the boy cuddled the animal close. Severus watched his son sleep for several moments before he moved away from the small bed to attend to his own evening ablutions.

His life wasn’t perfect, but it was turning out to be so much better with Cole involved.

He passed the coffee table in the living room, and looked down to see his mail strewn across the surface. He sneered at the letter on top. It was an invitation to the Third Annual Defeat of the Dark Lord celebration. He hadn’t gone to the first two, what made them think he wanted their company now? Imbeciles.

But then again….it would be a wonderful chance for Cole to see Hogwarts. There were tours for nostalgic people who wanted to remember the days of yore, and for those who may have never attended, but knew the history of the school. He could take Cole on one of the tours.

A slow grin crept across the Potions Master’s face. It would also be a great opportunity to parade his most adorable son in front of the staff that had previously mocked him and his supposed inability to produce his own progeny. Let them eat their words, the dunderheads.

~~

Hermione dozed lightly against Lucius’ side as he simultaneously rubbed her belly and read a light book. They had spent the majority of the day getting ready for their wedding. Upon Hermione’s insistence, it was going a be a very small, very private affair with only a few witnesses that included Severus Snape, Hermione’s parents, and Harry Potter. Hermione just needed to…erm…ask her parents.

Bugger..this was going to be harder than she thought. They didn’t even know she was preggers. Urg…they didn’t even know she’d broken up with Ron. What a mess…

“When will they be here, dearling?” Lucius asked distractedly, sensing Hermione’s discomfort.

“The Portkey I sent them activates at six. I told them to hold onto it no later than two minutes till.” She said, and opened her eyes to glance over at the large grandfather clock in the corner. It read 5:36, and Hermione could feel the tension starting to seep into her bones. She knew the baby could feel her nervousness, too, and in turn began to squirm uncomfortably in her womb. She rolled slightly, and placed her hand over Lucius’, stilling his hand where she was positive the baby’s head was. After a few moments the incessant shifting ended, and Hermione relaxed again.

“Wriggly little thing, isn’t it?” he asked, leaning his face over Hermione’s shoulder to eye her belly.

“Your baby has been kicking my bladder all bloody day…” Hermione groaned.

“My baby? Oh, so when the child is misbehaving it’s mine?” he asked, amused.

“Precisely.” She snapped, shifting so that she could bury her face into his side. “I don’t want to do this anymore….” She mumbled. Lucius raised an eyebrow.

“I think it’s a bit late to decide that, Hermione. On the bright side, you’ve only two and a half more months to go.” He said. Hermione lifted her head and glared at him.

“I wasn’t talking about the pregnancy, you big blonde doofus.” She snapped. His eyes flashed playfully.

“Careful, pet, or you’ll have to sit gingerly when your parents arrive.” He warned. Her head dropped dejectedly back to his side.

“Wanker.” She said, her words muffled by his robes.

“With you around, dearling, I don’t have to do it that way, now do I?”

~~

Harry rapped sharply on the door, and stood tall. He half-expected a full-on war when this door was opened.

After a few moments, the door was cracked slightly, and he saw cold brown eyes peeking through the slit. There was a sharp gasp.

“What do you want here?” came the low whisper.

“I just came for a visit, Aunt Petunia. Are you going to leave me on the porch? The neighbors will surely talk…” he said softly. “Especially considering I forgot to dress for the occasion.” He added, and looked down at his robes. There was a soft growl, and the door was wrenched open.

“Get in, you miserable brat!” she hissed. He walked calmly past her, and she shoved her head out the door to see if anyone had seen her misbegotten nephew. Good, the coast was clear. When she shut the door and turned back to Harry, she gasped when she found a wand pointed at her face. “Y-You can’t scare m-me with your little stick!” she hissed.

“But I think I can, dear Aunt. My business here is quick. I only want to ask a few questions to you and Uncle Vernon.” He said. Petunia’s face twisted horribly.

“I bet you came to rub it in my face, didn’t you? You misbegotten freak!” she hissed, and large tears began to fall from her eyes. Harry tilted his head slightly, but his wand didn’t falter.

“What?” he asked.

“As if you didn’t know! Vernon died last year, Potter. A..a heart attack. But my Vernon was healthy and strong…I don’t…” she said miserably, but stopped when Harry snorted.

“He was as big as a small hippopotamus and he ate nothing but salt, butter, and grease. I was surprised he lived as long as he did…” Harry mused. Petunia gave a heart-wrenching sob, and shoved her nephew’s wand out of her face so that she could walk away from him. Harry watched her intently, before he seemed to lose all interest in her, and headed for the hallway.

“Where are you going?” she asked, alarmed. He stopped at the small, oddly shaped door, and stared at it for several long minutes. Petunia watched him warily, before she dared to clear her throat. He turned his eyes to her, and she gave a sob of terror when she saw them glowing fiercely.

“Why?” he asked, his voice a cold whisper. “Why exactly did I not deserve to be treated with the slightest modicum of respect that you would have offered a common stranger, had you thought that stranger might offer you something in return? I may not have been your son, but I was your blood. I am your blood. And my blood, and my mother’s blood offered you and your family protection from the moment I came here. I protected you from being murdered in your sleep by Death Eaters with my mere presence. And my reward was to be starved, beaten, and locked in a cupboard. Just tell me why!” he hissed, his voice rising in pitch, but not in volume. By the time he finished his voice was a harsh, high whisper.

Petunia’s face morphed to rage.

“We didn’t want you! We never asked for you! If it wasn’t for your mother and her freaky powers, we would never have been in danger from your Count Voldermoot. My family could have been normal, without things flying about, and other things changing into other things. You were nothing but a burden and a strain on this family. We wouldn’t have taken you in if we’d had a choice. But that Dumbledorf character didn’t really give us a choice. If I had listened to Vernon, we would have put you in a sack with a few heavy stones and thrown you in the river at first chance.” She hissed back.

The glow in Harry’s eyes faded for a moment, and he stood looking shocked at her cold, cruel words. Then his face twisted as if he was in pain, and his hands flew to his head.

“No! NO! You can’t! Leave me alone!” he cried desperately, and fell to his knees. Petunia watched, horrified, as Harry doubled over, clutching at his head as if in agony. “No….no…” he mewled softly, before he fell deathly still and silent. Petunia took a step closer to see if the freak had died on her new carpet, before shockwave of sparkling magic exploded from Harry’s kneeling body, knocking her completely off her feet. She landed hard on her bottom, and covered her head as a few of her decorative sconces exploded, showering her with glass.

When the noise had died down, she let her arms fall from her head, and looked over to where Harry had fallen. He was standing now, with his back to her. She saw him hold his hands out in front of him, and flex his fingers as if he hadn’t used them in a while. He patted the front of himself, and she heard a harsh bark of laughter that sounded nothing like Harry Potter. He turned sharply, and Petunia didn’t hold back the scream that formed when she saw his face.

It appeared as if his scar had burst open, and blood dripped down his face from the jagged wound. His eyes, once the brightest emerald, were a startling red. He gave a twisted grin, and closed his eyes. When he opened them, the emerald hue had returned, though they were as cold as green ice.

“I should thank you, Muggle.” He said, and took a few steps towards her. She whimpered, and scrambled backwards, unfortunately coming in contact with the sofa. “I’ve been trying to get complete control for quite a while. But the boy’s will was too damned strong. Congratulations. You did what I failed to do: you broke Harry Potter’s spirit. I repay you by letting you live. Farewell.” He said, and disappeared with a sharp crack.

He reappeared in the foyer at Grimmauld Place, and stopped in front of the mirror in the hall. His reflection immediately began to pound on the mirror as if trapped inside. But he only grinned.

“Hogwarts, here I come.”

~~

On the grounds of Hogwarts, in a place not known by many students, rested a large stone tomb. The wizard inside the tomb had done wonderful things in his life. He had been a symbol of a generation, and the mentor of another. On the lid of his tomb was engraved an elaborate phoenix, a representation of the familiar that had served him well in life.

There was nothing particularly different about his evening, save for the soft trilling of a brilliantly colored bird resting on the tomb's top. The great scarlet bird hadn't been seen for some four years, but had reappeared in a time when it sensed it was needed. The bird lifted its brilliant scarlet wings, and disappeared in a fiery flash. It reappeared in a dark room, the only sound being a soft fluttering, and the murmur of voices long gone.

Now for some business...

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Oh. Oh my. Oh my goodness. This....is a masterpiece. Come now, you can't deny that I just came back with a brilliant piece of wonderfullness. I would, of course, appreciate feedback. I do apologize for being gone for so long, but I had a LOT of stuff to take care of. The muse hit tonight, friends, and I feel the story starring to come to a head, if only I had the motivation *cough, cough, wink wink* to complete it.

You read my story, now review.